Theatre review: Two Gentlemen of Verona’s comic tale of romance and betrayal thrives on ’80s-era dazzle

In Bard on the Beach’s new production, retro pastels and power suits map surprisingly well onto the chaos of Shakespeare’s sometimes troublesome original

By Angie Rico

Bard on the Beach’s production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Photo by Tim Matheson

Bard on the Beach presents The Two Gentlemen of Verona at the BMO Mainstage to September 19

THE 1980s USUALLY HOLD a special place in people’s hearts, so much so that nostalgia for that decade has become a subgenre all its own. We have movies, shows, music, and, as it turns out, Shakespeare plays. 

As for this particular Bard play’s staying power? The Two Gentlemen of Verona isn’t exactly a crowd favourite. Often considered Shakespeare’s earliest comedy, its story of friendship, betrayal, and romantic confusion is generally thought of as structurally wobbly and tonally uneven. It also ends with a notoriously uncomfortable scene of assault and sudden forgiveness. It’s not exactly built for lasting affection. 

Thankfully, director Dean Paul Gibson knows this play well, having launched his directing career with it back in 2001, as the show notes mention. That familiarity, combined with his own lived memory of the ’80s, results in a staging full of tonal boldness and the drama and dazzle of the decade. If nostalgia is a drug, this Two Gents is a full-blown serotonin hit.  

The plot follows mullet-headed, high-fiving best bros Proteus and Valentine as they leave their hometown in search of opportunity and, inevitably, love. In Milan, Valentine falls for Silvia, the Duke’s daughter. Proteus, meanwhile, has already pledged himself to Julia back in Verona, but when he arrives in Milan (sent by his parents), he quickly falls for Silvia too. What starts as a light romantic tangle quickly spirals into betrayal and emotional fallout, with Julia following Proteus in disguise and seeing his disloyalty first-hand. 

The aesthetics grab you right away, kicking off with a synth-y, shoulder-shimmying medley of Eurythmics and Yello. From there, it’s all neon, power suits, razor-sharp shoulders, oversized leather jackets, and hair with a life of its own. 

The production is packed with pop culture nods: needle drops, tiny flashes of retro slang, and characterizations that riff on classic ’80s types. It sometimes veers into full-on pastiche, especially with the wall-to-wall sonic throwbacks. But it adds up to more than Shakespeare in hairspray. It’s a comedy of errors reimagined with teen movie logic—crushes, betrayals, wild choices, big feelings—all of it mapping surprisingly well onto the chaos of Two Gents. The tone leans right into the cheesiness: impulsive love confessions (boombox included), tokens of affection (not a ring here, but an earring), and plenty of theatrics that mostly heighten the comedy instead of undercutting it.  

That tone gives the actors plenty to play with. Jacob Leonard plays Proteus with the brooding smirk of a Heathers-era Christian Slater. On opening night, some of the character’s overblown declarations and self-justifications came out stuttery, but it gave Proteus a slightly unhinged, oddly disarming edge. The audience bit, especially on the Machiavellian “I to myself am dearer than a friend,” which earned a mix of gasps and laughs.  

Matthew Ip Shaw’s Valentine is the softer contrast: charming, sincere, the kind of nice guy who mostly keeps his moral compass intact. But without spoiling too much, that’s why he isn’t quite the emotional centre. That role lands instead on Julia, played by Tess Degenstein with both comic precision and tenderness. Both female leads get more of a fighting chance in this version, with Agnes Tong giving Silvia a dose of believable, and much-welcomed, power-glam spunk.  

Everyone’s clearly having a blast with their characterizations, and it shows. The play has not one but two Shakespearean clowns—Scott Bellis as a stoner Launce with Doc Brown vibes, and Angus Yam bringing a jittery, offbeat charm to Speed. Most of the other characters are just as over the top. The straightest player in all of this? That would be Crab, the dog (played by the delightful, scene-stealing Mason).  

(From left) Matthew Ip Shaw, Agnes Tong, and Tanner Zerr in The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Photo by Tim Matheson

Carmen Alatorre’s gleefully maximalist costumes are an impressive feat. Pam Johnson’s retro-fantasy set channels McMansion opulence—arches, pastel palettes, ornamental shrubs—and opens into the mansion of the Duke (a really funny Sheldon Elter) that’s less Renaissance court, more Miami Vice pool deck, ready for youthful drama and reckless abandon.  

One of the queasier legacies of vintage teen movies is how often they brushed past consent for the sake of comedy; Sixteen Candles, Revenge of the Nerds, Weird Science, looking at you. The original ending of the The Two Gentlemen of Verona carries a similar kind of whiplash: a near-assault, quickly forgiven, and everyone paired off like nothing happened.

This production, without adding a single line to the ending, shifts the whole tone subtly but decisively, and to more satisfying effect. The cultural imprint of the ’80s runs deep. That kind of nostalgia can feel indulgent, and at times it is here, but it still works. Everyone’s playing in the same key, and it makes the silly and the sincere ring louder, and linger a little longer. 

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